


Understanding Grief

by Cookweave



Category: Soul Calibur
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-14 02:16:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20593025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cookweave/pseuds/Cookweave
Summary: A non-romantic short story that is part of a series centered two years before the events of Soul Edge. This story is about Setsuka





	Understanding Grief

January 15, 1582.  
A lone woman in a beautifully made kimono stood in front of a small headstone amidst an old water garden. This marked the freshly-dug grave of Setsuka’s master, who had been recently killed in a duel to the death. The woman who stood before the grave simply having collapsed to her knees, the bitter mountain snow enveloping her legs in an icy tomb, blades of sheer cold slicing along her bare skin. She was Setsuka. The sole apprentice to this man, and the sole person who grieved for his passing.  
“I apologise, Master… I said I would not shed a tear for you. You may wish for me to, but I always kept my word.”  
This was a promise that she had made to herself, and one that she would keep. It was an odd sensation, grief. This was the first time that she had truly experienced it. Having no family prior to him, there was no one to grieve. Was there traditions and formalities in such a thing? She said she would not cry, but should she? There were only questions that were in her head and no answers.  
It was shortly after his passing that Setsuka had truly figured her feelings out. She was always flustered around him, and despite the fact that her motions were graceful, elegant and, most importantly, deadly, she always wanted to strive for more. She would accept no less than perfection, even when her skills were more than satisfaction. This was because she loved him. Not as a father. Not as a mentor. As an equal.  
The more that she thought about it, the more it was ridiculous in her mind. He would have only seen her as an apprentice. Maybe even as a daughter, but never in the way that Setsuka wanted her to see him. Not as an equal, someone worthy of his undivided attention. No matter what she would do to try and get his attention, she would have been simply unable to do so. It would be unrequited love; it would tear through her as a hot knife cut through butter. To discover these feelings only after his death… it was a form of relief for the woman. It meant that she would not have to worry about the pressures of appearing proper to him, potentially ruining their relationship as it was. She could simply reminisce on the times that they had together and let them remain as beautiful, shattered memories.  
Having finally finished her reminiscing, the girl would place a small stick of incense into the holder that she had left there, before quickly lighting it and allowing it to burn. The powerful scent was swiftly lost to the midwinter breeze but would at least guide the soul of her mentor to a peaceful rest.  
Setsuka stood up, brushing her legs off of any snow. The dawn was finally making its appearance, yet the bitter coldness would not leave throughout the day, despite the sun’s rays beaming through the clouds. Turning to approach the decking, the woman would remove her geta outside before stepping into the home. It was a small building, but it was their modest home. But even now, it feels so large.  
It had been six weeks since that day, and even now the woman had not gotten used to how empty everything felt. The rooms echoed in silence, almost to the point of being deafening. She had found herself being there less and less, trying just to get away and move along. But it was failing. No matter what, she was drawn back to their dojo, the bloodstains still there on the tatami from where the duel had happened, where the fatal blow had been landed.  
Setsuka remembered returning from the market with the ingredients she had been asked to collect for dinner. She had set the vegetables on one side when she realised that there was heavy breathing in the dojo. Her father figure lay dying and whispered sweet nothings to her before finally fading away. She hated herself for her actions that day. She wanted to say so much to him. She wanted to help him, but all she could do was sit there and watch, feel him slip away.  
Yet, his final breath was the one that would haunt Setsuka. One that would be the sole focus of her hatred and anger. He revealed the name of the man who had done this to him after warning her of not using the teachings for revenge.  
That name was Heishiro Mitsurugi.  
“One day,” Setsuka whispered to herself. “One day, I will find you and cut you down.”  
The sun had risen, and Setsuka had finished her morning routine. Despite now being alone, years of rigidity had taught the fifteen-year-old to live a structured, disciplined life. Now that she was seen as an adult by most, she would live like one. She had not eaten, however, as her appetite had waned ever since that day. Setsuka had no idea how much weight she had lost, but however much it was, it was certainly more than was healthy.  
The morning consisted of two hours of iaijutsu training in the cold winter air. This was enough to keep her skills in check, and to confirm that she was still as fast as can be. After that, she would take a dip in the small spring that her master had built for them, in order to clean herself of any sweat or dirt that she may get on it. Despite her readiness to train or fight, Setsuka was surprisingly a neat freak, which was why her home was immaculate, as well as why she despised going back into the dojo if she could.  
Having finished cleaning, the woman would sit on the wood of the outside of her home, facing onto the garden that they had both built. From an inside pocket of her luxurious kimono, she pulled out a battered old kiseru. This was her master’s favorite, a simple design carved from sakura wood. He always said the smoke from it was better than anything else he had tried. Loading it with tobacco, Setsuka would light it, allowing for the leaves to start glowing before giving a soft suck upon it. After a hard day’s work in his final year of life, her master would allow Setsuka to take a few puffs of it as well, using it to finally relax their minds. He even taught her how to blow smoke rings, although she never quite got the hang of it.  
Here goes nothing, she thought to herself as she did as she was told. A small ring of grey pressed forwards, contrasting with the mountain’s icy breath before blending away with it. The display was fleeting, but it was enough to bring a weak smile to the blonde’s face.  
“Looks like I finally did it, Master.”  
Setsuka had found herself getting lost in the smoke of the kiseru, being reminded of times with her father figure. Before she even realised it, an hour had passed, and her hands were nearly numb. It was time for her to head out to town, allow for herself to be distracted by the world around her. The sun’s rays had faded, and now the sky was lined in a silver dusting, as fresh snow gently fell from the heavens. Setsuka grabbed her coin purse and tucked it away next to her kiseru inside of her clothing, before wrapping herself in it tightly and taking a grip of her trusted parasol. Raising the oil paper above her head, Setsuka would leave her home and began walking.  
A gentle breeze made the snow fall at a slight angle, reflecting perfectly off of the parasol. The distinct twin lines of a geta footprint followed in the place of Setsuka, who had made her way to the market. It was a small, tightly knit community, where most people knew each other. Even in this place, where she was known and liked, Setsuka was clearly an outsider. She stood a head taller than most of the women, and even stood over some of the men. Her skin, paler and of a different texture, one that she was complimented on. The structure of her face as well as her naturally blonde hair all pointed to a foreigner, and that is what she was mistaken for.  
Approaching her usual stalls, Setsuka looked into her coin purse. She had been eating less, so it meant that she had more coin to spare. Taking a rare trip over to the meat stall, she could see that the hunter was not the usual old man that it was. Instead, it was a young man, who was glaring over to the girl as she slowly approached the male.  
“What do you want,” he would ask with a grimace upon his face. “Don’t tell me that you need directions. I don’t speak any other languages.”  
Faces started to turn towards the duo. Setsuka had always been known to have quite a temper on her, a trait that had only grown worse with grief. The blonde scowled as she spoke with a tongue sharper than even her blade. “I want a rabbit.”  
The male seemed to be stunned at the fact that this woman could not only understand his native tongue, but also respond to it with such fluency. It had struck the onlookers that they had clearly become accustomed to Setsuka’s presence, that she was simply another villager to them. “Sorry, I don’t serve outsiders.”  
“That’s rich, coming from an outsider himself. Now, a rabbit. Give me a price on it. Now.”  
“Well, looks like someone has grown too big for her boots,” the male clicked his tongue as he leaned forwards onto his table. It wasn’t as if he could pretend that he didn’t have any. After all, there was one that was strung up front and centre for all to see. It turns out he was being difficult for the sake of it. “I told you, I don’t serve outsiders.”  
A visible look of frustration appeared on the face of the woman. For once she finally decided that she needed to eat something significant, and this is the time that they don’t want to sell it to her. “I said to give me a price.”  
“How are you going to make me? Batter me with a parasol? I’m so scared! The little lady’s gonna batter me with her para—”  
The gentle thud echoed throughout the stall as the sound of the very wind being cut in two forced its way into the hunter’s ear. His eyes widened, for there was now something silver in his eyes. A gentle reflection of the snow was in the silver. A mirror? No, this was much worse. It was a blade, drawn in the blink of an eye, pointed at his eye. That thud was the rabbit. The rope had been cut in one clean strike.  
“—sol…”  
“I was thinking more about taking your eyes, but I suppose that you are technically correct. I’ll take the rabbit instead. Next time, instead of judging me, just give me a damned price.”  
Putting away the blade back in the weapon, Setsuka would rest it upon her shoulder and turn. She had grabbed the rabbit by the rope that it was hanging upon and put it into her basket, alongside the other things that she had bought. She knew exactly what to do with it, and with that she was done.  
Setsuka knew that she was being followed. The three would-be assailants weren’t exactly subtle about it, and the fact they were about to ambush her on the bridge was clear. It was a good thing that she spotted them so soon, since it allowed her to pass her food items on to Honoka, another teenager of the village who had become acquaintances with Setsuka. She had invited her over to eat alongside her, the first time that she had done so in nearly three months. Of course, that was not the first thing on her mind. “What do you want?”  
From the shadows, three figures emerge. They were all dressed in dark colours, each of them covering their faces. On the surface, they appeared to be assassins, two men and a woman. Ill equipped, they had a single katana between them. “You!” the one with the katana would yell out to Setsuka. “You threatened our hunter earlier! How dare you make an enemy of us!”  
“The hell are you to judge?”  
“We are your doom! Your demise!” The woman would call out. In her hand was a kunai, sharpened specifically for cutting flesh. The only distinguishable feature of her was the long, black ponytail that hung to around her waist.  
“You don’t seem a threat to me. Very well,” Setsuka would fold away her parasol, holding it to her left side. She flicked down the right shoulder of her kimono, allowing the beautifully weaved pink and red sleeve flow effortlessly. The outline of a tattoo was made upon her right shoulder, ready to be filled in with colour soon enough. The flakes of snow melted upon pale skin almost instantly, the only sign that it was real human flesh, and not simply a porcelain mannequin. “If you are foolish enough to throw away your life, then so be it. Woman, prove to me that you can keep up.”  
Flustered, the kunai-wielding attacker would charge directly at Setsuka, aiming to plunge the weapon deep into her stomach. With a scream, she would raise the weapon and plunge it towards the inviting flesh, exposed to the elements. The woman would not even flinch, simply standing with her hand to the hilt of her hidden blade. Soon enough, a few sparks would ignite in the air, as deep-grey iron collided with light silver steel. Setsuka had drawn the blade only partially from the parasol, causing it to bounce away. The other woman was stunned by the strike, caught off guard. Her tool-turned-weapon was sent flying out of her hand and into the river, and before she knew it, another massive setback. A scream erupted into the sky, as the two men watched in terror.  
In that small instant that she was disarmed, the blade had been drawn fully. Alas for the female assailant, it shone not in silver, but a viscerally beautiful ruby. A few drops from the landed upon the fresh snow, but that appeared to be nothing compared to what was five feet away from it. A spray of crimson had travelled to Setsuka’s right, covering the snow and splashing slightly into the river below them. The woman was still standing, but only due to pure adrenaline. There was a deep gash all along her torso, the skin underneath dyed by the grim escape.  
“Die,” Setsuka would say in words colder than the very air, and in that instant, the blade slashed once more. Setsuka had spun to slash from her left to her right again, taking a step back before flicking the liquid off of her blade and to the virgin snow. Sheathing her blade, she watched as the woman reached to her throat. Her two accomplices had already fled, knowing that they would be next if they had stayed around.  
The woman had a look of panic in her eyes as she collapsed to her knees. Her neck had become a fountain of deep crimson, as the pool in front of her expanded, the heat melting the snow beneath her. Trying to scream, all that escaped were gentle gargles as her voice was slowly overcome by her own vitality. It was draining fast, and the pulsation of her heart was slowly causing her windpipe to flood. Soon enough, the woman collapsed forwards, the mixture of blood loss and asphyxiation causing the loss of consciousness. The female’s limbs would softly twitch, the only signs that the brain was so active. This soon stopped, and Setsuka walked away. She had stayed to let her perish.  
“May you rest in peace.”  
Once she had returned home, Setsuka immediately got to cleaning the mess that she had made of herself. The blood had gotten onto her kimono, and would leave a rather unpleasant stain if it was not sorted out soon. Once inside, she lit the fire in order for her to keep some semblance of warmth as she removed the dress, leaving herself bare in her home, her smallclothes the only thing that was protecting her.  
It was clear that she was developing rather quickly. Her body had grown a lot shapelier in recent months, and despite the fact that she had not been eating enough, there was still a very healthy looking woman there. A scar from an old training session still lay upon her left side of her waist, distinctly in the shape of a blade being thrust. It was from soon after the training got more intense with her master, after he was injured in a duel that he had lost.  
Lifting the kimono fabric and running her fingers along the stain, Setsuka would raise it to her nose, before grimacing a little. Despite the freezing conditions, it was still warm. She then plunged the garment into a bucket, before gently working with it to remove the crimson from the fabric. Soon enough, the stain was gone, and Setsuka had left it out to dry by the fire.  
“What do I wear for my meal with Honoka?”  
It was a simple question, but one that made the difference. Her wardrobe was extremely limited, thanks to the fact that the pair of them rarely had a lot of money. It is why Setsuka wore the kimono so much; it was a luxury he could and should have saved for himself.  
Deciding that she should take a gi, the woman re-dressed herself, before finishing off the outfit with a vermillion hakama to cover her legs. There was no reason to do so since she was just cooking, but having her legs obscured always just made her feel… safe. It meant that she was harder to read.  
“Better clean the blade too,” Setsuka spoke to herself. She picked up the umbrella that she had set aside at the door, and removed the weapon from inside of it. The sword itself was probably about the length of her shin, and was made expertly in folding, tempered steel. This weapon was a masterwork blade, and was the only other truly luxurious item that the young woman owned. The pattern that was upon the cutting edge was smooth, done to near-perfection, each wave the perfect height and distance to one another. The usually brilliant silver of the blade was currently tainted in a red hue, the stench of copper filling the room as the blade was drawn slowly.  
This was Ugetsu Kageuchi, and it was Setsuka’s instrument of death.  
Whilst washing down the blade, Setsuka heard the door unlock and open, before hearing a few footsteps into the main room. A familiar “Pardon the intrusion,” echoed from the same direction, the upbeat voice recognised as her upbeat friend, Honoka. Stepping into the room, Honoka sat opposite Setsuka.  
“Oh, you’re in here and you’ve changed. Why’s the blade out, did you get into trouble again, Sestsuka-chan?”  
Setsuka looked over to the other who had tilted her head. She was a maiko, a geisha in training, and still had a bit of the makeup on her face, most likely from ritualistic practice earlier. “I told you, you do not need the formalities with me. I’m not from here.”  
“Yeah, but you’re still Setsuka-chan to me.”  
“Fine, call me that.”  
Putting away the blade with a sigh, Setsuka would then pick up her basket and set it on the table. Taking out the ingredients, she would raise a brow. She had no idea that Honoka could cook, but it appeared all of the ingredients were chopped up and ready to just be thrown in to cook. “To answer your earlier question, yes. I was attacked by three people on the bridge, two men and one woman. The woman came at me with a kunai, so I took her life.”  
Honoka seemed kind of shocked, but also nodded slowly. She knew that this was just how Setsuka was. There would be no changing that. If someone was attacking her, she would simply kill them. It was that kind of mentality that leads to a long life in this country. Everywhere was at war; no one knew when militia would be called to arms. “Are you hurt from that encounter?”  
“No. Anyway, I was unaware that you knew how to carve rabbit.”  
“Oh, I don’t. Papa did that whilst I was learning rituals with Mother.”  
“I see,” Setsuka would take the ingredients and pour them into a shallow pan. She had previously filled another pan with rice and water, before she put the both of them over the fire. All that was left on the counter was a ceramic bottle and two cups. “Do you want a drink?”  
Around empty plates and cups, the two girls would sit and talk about small topics, mainly about the role that Honoka had as well as how she would perform differently to her mother. This role was something that Setsuka’s master had rarely taught her about, for reasons best unknown to her. She had grown up without religion, but she never really knew why. “Hey, Honoka. How come you refer to your father as ‘Papa’, but your mother as Mother? It seems strange to me.”  
“Oh, that is because Papa has always been the one who was mostly in charge of raising me. Mother has always been the sole geisha in the town, so is always busy helping the rest of the town.”  
Setsuka gave a silent nod as she took a second to stand up. It was at that point she froze. She always kept her weapon and parasol within arm’s reach, and it was for things like this. She turned towards the dojo, which had a shadow going across the paper door. Setsuka almost immediately knew who this was; it was the third assailant. He had a pair of kama in his hands, and was taking the time to check every section of the dojo, before looking towards the paper door that led to where the two girls were.  
“Honoka. Hide.”  
Upon telling her friend to hide, Setsuka would draw her blade and slowly make her way towards the dojo. She slid the door out of the way and took a step into the room where her beloved had died less than two months ago. Now it was time for another to die in here, and the woman knew she could not allow for it to be her. The male turned, standing upon the other side of the dojo to the woman. “Looks like you’ve walked towards your death,” he would say with sadistic glee. “My name is—”  
“I don’t care what your name is. You will not leave this building alive. I will send you to your partner, and your leader will soon follow,” Setsuka interrupted him, before removing the top half of her gi and shifting her body weight to be lower to the ground. She slowed her breathing, allowing for her mind to fully focus. Her hand hovered over her blade, ready to strike like a coiled snake. At that moment, there was nothing in her mind except her surroundings. The slightest motion would be noticed, leaving the foe to be cut down.  
“You wanna be naked when you die? Fine by me!”  
The man rushed forwards with the same confidence that his now-dead ally had, bringing the two kama together like a human pincer. His target was just below her ribcage. It appeared so tender, so supple… so easy to sink his blades into. Yet he had seemingly forgotten who he was up against. Before he even had the opportunity to react, however, Setsuka drew her blade in a single, upward motion. The tip of it ran across his cheek, tearing it open with a cut as if it was a mere sheet of paper. Before he could even recover his footing, the blade was back in the parasol, and the woman had raised herself a little bit.  
She had been told that in times of adversity, she should stand tall, especially against a weaker opponent. The blade is not one that should be used for vengeance or mindless bloodshed. If possible, fatally wounding someone should be avoided, and so intimidation is the key. Alas, the male was not taking the int, and simply charged forwards with another strike. However, he appeared to be smarter than he looked, and he tossed one of his kama. It had clearly missed Setsuka, but that was the idea of the attack. The tearing of the paper door echoed, followed by a scream of pain.  
That bastard, he brought an innocent girl into this.  
“Honoka!” Distracted by the scream, Setsuka turned for an instant, allowing herself to be exposed. In that, the assassin took his opportunity and swung the kama, landing upon his target. The blade sank effortlessly through the skin and into the soft flesh of the woman. It had narrowly missed her organs, but that didn’t stop the attack from being agonising, bringing her down to one knee.  
“Felled by that? Pathetic,” The man would lean over behind her, one hand on the kama, and the other having been placed upon her thigh. It would soon slide up and trace the line of her hakama, before attempting to slide into it. “You’ve caused us a lot of trouble, it’s time that we got you back for it.”  
As the hand would force its way upon the bare skin of Setsuka, the male would suddenly scream, before stumbling back. The sound of steel meeting bone was followed by the sound of Honoka falling back onto the soft mats of the dojo. The other kama was pulled out from her side, allowing her free movement at the cost of being in agony, as well as stream of crimson that was escaping her side. “Go, Setsuka-chan! You know what to do!”  
That inspiration from the maiko was all that was needed. In one graceful motion, Setsuka turned, drawing her sword and swinging it horizontally. A clean hit was made, as well as a fatal one. The male simply fell back after the attack, his head rolling from his shoulders as the thick, dark liquid seeped from both parts of his neck. The kama was dropped to the floor, still stained with the blood of the girl.  
“Looks like… we won…” Setsuka forced out, before dropping to one knee. That hit that she had sustained was clearly bad, being the worst wound that Setsuka had ever obtained. This was her first true taste of battle, as she had almost never left the home without the supervision of her mentor. He would simply deal with any hostilities that the pair had. “Are you okay, Honoka…?”  
The other girl got back onto her feet and was swiftly limping away to go and grab something from the other room. She had taken a slash to the leg from where the kama was thrown, but it was nothing too serious. If she were a warrior, it would be a wound she could ignore, but that sort of toughness was not to be expected from a simple maiko. “I’ll be fine! You need to rest, and rest now!”  
Setsuka gave a small smirk before her other leg gave out. The clattering of Ugetsu Kageuchi rang throughout the room, as the weapon’s wielder fell onto her back staring at the ceiling. Her body felt ready to ignite, every muscle seemingly working itself to its limit in wat turned to be an extremely swift duel. Is this how he felt when Setsuka found her? She could feel the blood slowly escaping her side. Her vision was blurry, her chest tightening with every breath. She was passing out and soon enough, would be unconscious. Was she going to even wake up again? Who knew. But in that instance, in the moment of being face to face with death, she had never felt more alive in her life.  
Everything went dark. She could feel that someone was close to her and sat by the side with a wound in it. “Hono…ka…” she whispered, as a swift, sharp pain erupted from that side around her. Vision was still blurry from the fact that she had lost a fair amount of blood from her body, but she was perfectly aware of the girl next to her. That feeling was one of a needle; making it clear that she was definitely going to live from the wound. After all, why make a person’s last moments awful by putting them through more pain with stitches?  
“Looks like the blade missed most of your vital organs. The wound is bleeding pretty bad, but you haven’t lost enough blood to be in danger. You’re going to be alright, Setsuka-chan,” Honoka would explain in a small, gleeful manner. Setsuka knew that the girl was smiling in relief that the both of them will be fine, even if she couldn’t see it clearly.  
“Do you… mind… if I go to sleep for a bit?”  
“Not at all. Rest easy, my saviour…”  
Running a hand across the forehead of Setsuka, Honoka would hum a lullaby as those pale features of hers began to relax, the eyes close, and Setsuka would take this moment to sleep, rest herself and give her body the much needed rest that she needed.  
Her eyes fluttering open, Setsuka took a small amount of time to let her vision go back into focus, taking her time to look around. This was not her home, it was Honoka’s. Glancing from the pillow set underneath her, she could see that a futon was set up, and Honoka was currently sat with her mother, who was taking the time to treat the cut that the girl had suffered.  
“Good, you’re finally awake,” the geisha would speak simply, as Setsuka soon found it in herself to sit up and stretch. Looking down to her side, she could see that the wound was now sealed, and wrapped up rather tightly in a set of bandages. Her clothes had been changed once again to a casual kimono from the geisha’s own wardrobe.  
“Setsuka-chan! That is Mother’s old kimono, she said that you can have it, since it doesn’t fit her. It’s not as pretty or expensive as yours, but it does at least mean you have more clothes,” Honoka would speak with a smile, although it was occasionally broken up with a wince from the herbs that are being used to help treat the cut.  
“Where’s the man that I killed?”  
“He’s been placed into the mass grave outside of the castle walls. Nobody recognised him or the girl that I assume was killed as anything more than bandits that came into town two days ago,”  
Setsuka gave a small nod before giving a small stretch. It was painful, but also liberating, since this meant that she still had all of her motion in her upper body now. She would still be able to train and prepare for her eventual encounter with the man who killed the closest thing that she had to a father. Once she had finished having her wound treated, Honoka would shuffle over to Setsuka’s side whilst her mother stood up to go and make some tea for the pair of them. Honoka pushed Setsuka back down onto the futon gently, as to not further aggravate the wound that she had suffered.  
“Did you get me here?” Setsuka asked. Her words were once again coherent, but there was still a hint of exhaustion in her voice thanks to the events that had transpired.  
“I got Papa to carry you here. I explained the whole situation to him,” Honoka explained, running a hand through the golden locks of the other teenager. She had always been soothed by this when her mother did it to her, so now it is her turn to soothe someone with this very same technique. A gentle hum echoed throughout the room, allowing for Setsuka to relax herself once again. A glance out of the window would show the snow was falling heavily through the night time air. Just how long was she unconscious for?  
“Hey, Honoka?”  
“Yeah?”  
“What’s the time? I want to know how long I was out for.”  
“Hmm…” Honoka brought her hand up to her chin as she thought about it. She was never the best judge of time, but she would at least try her best for her ailing friend. “I want to say it’s been four hours since sundown, so… nine?”  
“It’s already that late? I should make my way home,” Setsuka tried to sit herself up and leave, but Honoka was not letting her move. Even though she was much smaller than the foreign-built girl, Setsuka was simply too exhausted to even put up a fight against her.  
“You aren’t going anywhere. We brought your favourite kimono over too, so you can wear it tomorrow. Mother has insisted that you are staying with us until you are back to full health.”  
“But—”  
“No buts. That is what is happening, and you will deal with that. Your home is being looked after by the baker and his wife. They’re more than happy to do so, since their daughter, her husband and their grandchildren can watch their own home.”  
Setsuka nodded, completely and utterly defeated at this point in time. There was no point in fighting though. This was comfortable, warm and, most critically, safe from attackers. Such was the advantage of being in a place with others, instead of those empty halls of her home alone. “There is one thing though, Honoka. What happened to that third assailant? The one with the katana.”  
“He has fled the village entirely. It appears as if the hunter that he was associated with was killed too. But he was outside of the village walls, so I wonder what got him.”  
Honoka’s mother answered the question that Setsuka had asked. She had come in to bring tea to her, as well as a large bowl of ramen for Setsuka. Her body ached and was still frail. Honoka’s mother had noticed this, complaining that the girl didn’t look healthy; she needed to eat something and put the weight that she lost back on. “Here,” she stated, placing the bowl and the tea on a low table by Setsuka’s side. “You’re wasting away. Have you been eating correctly recently? I know that your father would be annoyed if he saw you starving yourself…”  
Setsuka frowned and looked down. Being scolded like this made her feel like a child again. But that was actually good for her. It was a feeling that she never used to have; unconditional love and care from a motherly figure. Setsuka never knew who that person was, nor did she even know where they were from. But that didn’t matter. Japan was her home now, and her family, even if the relation wasn’t by blood, was clear.  
She finally belonged here.  
“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!”  
Heavy breathing escaped the masked male as he ran from what initially seemed to be a perfect target; a small village in southern Japan, a place where they could extort the prices of their game, rob the villagers blind and leave without a trace. But no. There HAD to be that damned girl there. Thanks to her, two of his three accomplices were dead! The third one was gone as well, but he didn’t know where he was.  
It was fast approaching midnight, and the snow was falling at a heavy rate. It was making his fingers numb, and every step was being weighed down by the thickness of the snow underfoot. He was sinking in, and soon enough had found himself stumbling and rolling down, back on the floor. He glanced over to look at what he hit, since he swore that it moved when he tripped over it. Seeing where he had scraped the snow with his boot, what revealed itself was an extremely bloody hand. Panicked, the bandit began to dig and reveal the body to the world. It was his worst fear.  
This was the hunter, the third accomplice in his plans.  
The wounds that scattered his body were not made by nature or an animal. These blows were made by a blade, and a large blade at that. He was murdered in cold blood, and it seems as if the killer had made it as slow and painful for him as possible. He checked the hunter’s pouch – empty. Looks like he had been killed for his coin.  
The male began to flee once more, making sure that his blade was ready to be drawn at any second. He had told his group that only he should carry a katana, since he was the most important one. How wrong he was, and how he wished they were all efficiently armed. It was too late for that though. All he needed to do was get away.  
“Damn that girl! That blonde bitch ruined everything! Meeting her was the worst thing that could happen, I should have killed her on the bridge,” he cursed to himself, finally making his way onto what appeared to be a well-worn trail. It looked as if he was finally in the clear, as his pace slowed down to a much more relaxed walk, as opposed to the panicked sprint he was in just a few moments ago.  
That relaxed walk, however, was soon stopped as he approached a woman. She was wearing what appeared to be a rather plain looking kimono, probably to protect herself from the cold. On her left shoulder, she wore a skull-shaped pauldron, as well as more traditional Japanese armour. At her hip was a katana, apparently rather well kept as well. Her facial features showed that she was of Japanese origin as well, a fact that relaxed the bandit, since he was sick of foreigners after that damned girl. He presumed that she was also a bandit, since she was not in a cart at this time of night.  
“Don’t go over to that village, there’s a psychotic bitch with blonde hair there,” he warned as the woman glanced over, rather cute features locking upon his. Perhaps his initial feeling was incorrect, and she was just a regular person. “What’s your name, cutie?”  
The woman’s eyes glanced down to the sword at his hip. A fighter? This looked like it was promising to her. Though when she is talked to, she looked up to the sky like a total airhead. “My name?” she muttered, before tapping at her chin. “I can’t remember. What about yours?”  
“My name is Heishiro Mitsurugi,” the male responded with a smirk. It was a name that people had began hearing about, a young samurai who had proved himself to be an impeccable duelist. Yet, as he was still young, not many had put his face to the name. It was a ticket to intimidation and excellent discounts on the people who had believed him.  
A sadistic grin appeared upon the woman’s face as she heard the name. Heishiro Mitsurugi, eh? This guy didn’t look like an undefeated duelist, she must admit. But hey, names are names, and he had a sword on him, so he must be able to fight. Drawing her own blade, she would point it at the bandit. “You’ll make a good meal for this asshole on my shoulder. I want you to fight back!”  
The clash of metal only occurred a few times, before screaming from the male. He was found the next morning, his limbs cut off, as well as his head kicked a distance away from his mangled, dismembered body. The sword that he carried was gone, and the only sign that someone was even there was the carnage that was left behind.  
“This is what makes you feared, mortal.”  
A voice would echo through the head of the woman, who was inspecting the newly kept blade. It looked cheap, poorly kept and boring. She was sure that the weapon would break after a few uses, but at least it would do for now. “He said he was Mitsurugi, he should have expected to come across enemies. He was just some punk, clearly. He didn’t even last twenty seconds! Why can’t these kids have stamina to satisfy a woman?!”  
“Don’t make yourself sound like a common whore, mortal! It will hurt my reputation by mere association,” the demonic entity would bellow, only to be heard by the other.  
“Isn’t your reputation already in tatters when you were killed by a girl who can’t remember her own name, and now wears your skull as an accessory?”  
“Silence! I will one day restore my body and take pleasure in slaughtering you!”  
“Yeah yeah, whatever. Right, where are we going next?”  
“We head to Honnoji. Surely there will be plenty of souls you can carve up for me to devour.  
Let’s go, Shura.”

END


End file.
